


Beware Of Those Who Collect Feathers

by AssessTheSituation



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Alex Is A Cute Kid, Angels, Emotionally Stunted Michael, Emotions, Evil Angels, Gen, Jeep Is A Good Dad, M/M, Mild Gore, Other, Romance, Slash, Wings, mild violence, relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 20:15:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1912314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssessTheSituation/pseuds/AssessTheSituation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>... For You Are An Angel.</p>
<p>Humans have always been so strange in Michael's eyes. The emotions that rule their hearts and minds being so very foreign. But then there is Jeep - Jeep who will do anything for his son, who stares in the face of the End of the World and still dares to hope, who makes Michael believe.</p>
<p>He does not understand them, these humans, not fully. But with thoughts that come unbidden and feelings that he cannot name, Michael finds he wants to try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beware Of Those Who Collect Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> I know Malex (Michael/Alex) is the big pairing for this fandom, but I really saw some potential in the few scenes we saw with Michael and Jeep. It gave me an itch to write, and I decided to go with it. So this is Michael/Jeep.
> 
> Let me know what you think.
> 
> (This takes place between Legion and Dominion and so is slightly AU - more canon-divergent, if anything.)

His hands, they were a warriors’ hands, and they gripped his sword with the familiarity of a millennia. Red covered his blade, wet and warm, and it flowed down, down to the hilt of his weapon, tracing his fingers, seeping to his palms.

His hands.

They were hands soaked in the blood of his brothers and sisters – stains he thought he’d need only bear once when the first stirrings of betrayal rippled through his Father’s kingdom and he was forced to raise arms against his family and cast them from their Fathers’ side, watching as the traitors followed the retreating beats of leather wings deep into the darkness bellow.

It was all so much more _simple_ back then.

“Michael… you okay?”

Eyes with the depth of eons snapped up to Jeep’s face. His brow was heavy and his mouth was drawn, skin dotted with the mix of sweat and blood, eyes darting over Michael and the Possessed that lie dead at his feet.

Michael stared blankly at Jeep’s look of… fear? No, no it was… it was worry. Yes, that is what it was. Why, though? What was there to worry about? In the growing silence, Jeep kept looking from Michael, to his Fallen Brother, then to Michael again, his worry only deepening.

Inwardly, Michael mulled over his confusion. Did Jeep not think the Possessed dead? It was, very much so. Michael struck to kill, no more, no less. There was no room for mercy in this war. Jeep knew this; he knew the song of Michael’s sword nearly as well as he.

“…Michael?” Jeep voice was soft, questioning… concerned.

Ah, yes. Jeep was showing _concern,_ concern over Michael’s well-being. His body – gifted to him by his Father, not stolen like so many – was far more physically able than a regular person, and sometimes Jeep forgot that. Quickly, his confusion dissipated. Human emotions were such strange things.

“I am fine, Jeep.” Jeep did not seemed convinced, his eyes still locked onto Michael like there was a different answer to be found, but there was little Michael could do about that. As foreign as human emotions were to him, his apathy was just as foreign to humans.

Still, Jeep’s concern was appreciated and was something to be returned.

“I promise, Jeep, I am uninjured,” he says calmly, his words simple and true. “Yourself?”

“That’s not what I…” Jeep trails off and runs a hand through his hair.

Jeep holds his gaze a few moments longer but relents with an eye-roll and a sigh. Something in Michael stirs, something… warm. Amusement? At Jeep’s actions and he lets it tug at the corner of his lips.

“M’fine.” Jeep rolls his neck and grimaces. His fingers knead his shoulder, sore from when the Possessed slammed him into an empty grocery display, surprising them when they had entered the abandoned grocery store in search of food and supplies. “Nothin’ a little rest won’t work out.”

It is Michael’s turn to look unconvinced.

“Oh don’t give me that,” Jeep huffed. “Let’s grab what we can and leave before any more of ‘em decided to jump out from behind the cereal aisle.” With that, Jeep picks up his empty duffle bag from where it had been thrown and moves quickly to the next area, disappearing from Michael’s sight, his gun drawn the entire time.

It is brief, but for a moment Michael gazes down at the dead vessel that once housed one of his brothers. The man had been an employee, his uniform dirty and torn. A nametag still pinned to his chest reads ‘Ben’ and Michael sends a silent prayer to wherever his Father may be to see that Ben’s soul has found its way home.

He wonders, what do his brothers and sisters feel when they force a soul from its body and make it their own? Ink black eyes stare up at nothing and blood trickles out around razor-sharp teeth of its agape mouth. The skin is thin and stretched over elongated, distended limbs, the veins visible and dark.

Michael shakes his head at the ugliness that has become his people by their hatred of humanity and hopes the wound that released his brother, still bleeding freshly onto tiled floor, has brought him some form of peace.

He wipes his sword before he sheathes it, turns away from horror that is now a part of the Earth and begins his own search for anything usable, because Jeep is right; the sooner they leave the better.

* * *

 

The air is dry and tastes of dust as he and Jeep exit the grocery store. Their bags are lighter than either would like, but they were obviously not the first ones to search the store for provisions. The town they stopped in is small, out of the way and abandoned. It is the kind of place that is safer to rest in, but carries a greater risk of there being little to find for it.

They walk across the street to a line of cars, broken into and stripped of anything valuable. Jeep stops at the last one – a humble, four door sedan with tinted windows – and knocks on the back door to the tune of what he has told Michael is called ‘Skunk in the Barnyard’.

Michael pretends to understand why it is so humorous to Jeep.

They wait, then there is the sound of a lock popping and the door opens.

A young boy, five years old, moves out from under the blanket he was hiding beneath and smiles.

“Daddy!”

Jeep kneels down and opens his arms. “Hey, bud. Didn’t make you wait too long, did we?” Alex shakes his head, dark blonde curls bouncing, and jumps into his father’s arms. The old, stuffed dog-toy he carries with him is squeezed between the two.

In Michael’s chest, something hums at the sight. It is warm, like amusement, but much more filling… satisfying, and it brings the ghost of what feels like a smile to his face.

_Happiness_.

Alex pulls back, his blue eyes bright. “Did you guys get lots of stuff?”

A shadow passes over Jeep’s face, straining his smile and dimming the light that normally radiates from within him. It clenches the happiness in Michael with a cold grip. When Jeep is troubled, his spirit – so bright and shinning – weighed down, Michael does not like it. Not at all.

He does not know what to call it, this particular feeling.

But Jeep shakes it off, and his smile is strong again. “We got enough,” he says and ruffles Alex’s hair. A strong wind picks up, billowing Michael’s tattered coat, and he turns into it. It kicks up the dirt and debris littering the road and shakes the dead phone lines above. He stares far, his vision going beyond the little town and sees the threat of dark storm clouds on the horizon.

“What is it?” Jeep is staring at him, one arm tight around Alex and the other reaching for the gun holstered on his belt.

“Not Angels,” he says and looks to the buildings nearest them, “Merely a storm. We should find shelter nonetheless.”

Michael can see the tension leave Jeep’s shoulders, even under the heavy jacket he wears.

“Alright,” Jeep lifts Alex up and puts him back in the car, setting their two bags next to him. “Let’s get outta here.” He walks around Michael, giving his shoulder a gentle pat as he makes his way to the driver’s side.

The spot where Jeep touched him tingles. It is a strange occurrence, when he is touched. Jeep and Alex are mindful – wary, even, of his personal space, but they are human, and Michael has come to learn that humans… humans touch.

There is Alex who is young and seeks comfort, often grabbing for Michael’s hand if his father is not close by, then withdraws when he realizes it feels wrong because it is Michael and Michael is not human. Then there is Jeep, who is easy-going and open, who will unthinkingly place a hand on Michael’s back or nudge Michael’s arm when he thinks he has made a joke, because in Jeep’s words and actions, they are friends.

Even though he is Michael and Michael is not human.

Jeep either does not notice or does not care about the strangeness, about how Michael reacts awkwardly, slowly – if at all – to their touches.

How hesitant he is to return them, how he unsure he is, because Michael is unfamiliar with physical contact, and Jeep is not. It happens, occasionally, as he becomes accustomed to Jeep and Alex’s need to be close, to touch. It is so human – so very, very human. So he pays it little mind and lets the sensation fade away as he gets into the passenger seat of the car.

* * *

 

“Use a fork, young man.” Alex looks sheepishly up to his father, his fingers coated in baked beans. Jeep softens at Alex’s innocent face and he cracks up into laughter, attacking Alex with a rag, wiping at his messy fingers. Alex falls into giggles as he unsuccessfully tries to ward off Jeep’s hands.

The two end up a heap of laughter and scuffling on the floor of the small convenient store they are hiding away in, safe from the storm brewing outside. Of course, Jeep comes out the victor, grabbing Alex around the middle and pulling the young boy into his lap, tickling him into submission.

Michael sits across from Jeep and Alex’s play. He watches Jeep finish cleaning Alex’s fingers and then moving on to the dirt mark on his cheek. Alex regains his breath, but breaks into fresh laughter when Jeep tugs his nose.

These moments never fail to inspire something within Michael and he knows without a doubt that it is _his_ duty to protect them.

Alex, clean face and happy, looks over at him, “Why aren’t’cha eating, Michael?”

The can of soup and packet of cheese crackers Jeep tossed him earlier were sitting off to his side, untouched.

It is an innocent question, a child’s question, and it does not bother Michael that Alex has asked. But when Jeep’s eyes narrow at the uneaten food and raise an eyebrow at him, Michael would have preferred Alex to remain silent. It is a difference of opinion between him and Jeep that Michael would rather avoid when possible.

“I am not hungry, Alex.” Michael quirks his mouth into what he thinks will be similar to a smile. Alex says nothing else, the answer more than enough for him, and goes back to eating his beans, now with a plastic fork and settled in his father’s lap. Jeep, however, is not so easily placated.

“Michael,” he says with a hint of warning in his voice. “You have to eat.”

“Not as often as humans, Jeep. I am fine.” They have had this conversation repeatedly; thusly Michael has explained to Jeep many times how his body can sustain itself longer with less nourishment than humans.

It helped, especially in times like these, when their spoils from the grocery store amounted to less than a third of a duffle bag, adding little to their already meager supplies.

Rationing was necessary, and of the three of them, Michael could afford to go without.

But, like with every other time, Jeep does not let it go so simply. “No, Michael, not when you’ve been livin’ off airplane peanuts for a week.”

“Really, Jeep, I am perfectly well. I do not need food.” Hunger was nothing compared to the pains he has had to endure over his long life. There being enough food to keep Alex and Jeep strong was what was important.

“Yes, you _do_.” Jeep is trying to be stern with him, but with Alex happily eating away with bean juice covering his cheeks and nose, not a care in the world, the image of Jeep’s assertiveness is somewhat dampened.

Ah, the bubbling warmth again. Amusement.

“You gotta eat, Michael!” Alex wipes his mouth off with his sleeve, something Jeep is sure to chastise him for later, and looks at Michael in earnest. “S’how you’ll get big and strong and then you won’t gets sick ‘cause is you gets sick then daddy’ll make you drink t’cherry stuff.” Alex tilts his head back to stare up at Jeep, “Won’tcha, dad?”

Jeep chuckles and knocks noses with Alex. “That’s right, bud.”

Large, pleading eyes turn on Michael. “Please eat, Michael! You won’t like t’cherry stuff. It’s gross.” Alex sticks his tongue out to emphasize his point.

Alex is staring at him, hoping, and Jeep is staring at him, waiting. For whatever reason – an emotion most likely – Michael is obligated to comply. He pulls the lid off the soup, takes a spoon, and quietly sips his meal while Alex finishes his food and Jeep rips open a protein bar.

Nothing is said for the remainder of their diner, but Jeep has a smile on his face that makes Michael oddly… happy, the silence only breaking when Alex beings to fall asleep on Jeep’s legs

“Alex, bud,” Jeep gently shakes Alex’s shoulders. “I think it’s time for bed.”

“But… dad –” Alex yawns through the rest of his protest.

“No buts.” Michael watches as Jeep picks up Alex, already falling back asleep, and walks him over to the corner of their area. It is the most defendable part of the store, away from any windows or doors, where he and Jeep can keep an eye on him while on watch.

Jeep sets Alex down on a sleeping bag and pulls a thick blanket to his shoulders. The light from their small lantern catches in Jeep’s eyes as he gazes down at his son in warmth and amber and cards his hand through the young boy’s curly hair.

The image is striking.

“Well he’s out faster than a light.” Jeep stands up – only to grab his should and hiss in pain.

Michael is on his feet and in front of Jeep in less than a second.

“Jeep? Jeep, are you alright?”

Rubbing his shoulder, Jeep nods. “Yeah, yeah I’m alright. Keep your voice down. Damn Angel got me better than I thought is all.

Strange, Michael was not aware he had raised his voice. But it does not matter. “Take off your jacket, let me see.”

Jeep walks away from where Alex is sleeping and closer to the lantern.  He goes to take off his jacket, but struggles with the pain Michael should have noticed he was in sooner. Stepping behind him, Michael reaches around and takes the lapels of Jeep’s jacket in hand, pulling it down his arms as carefully as he can.

Even though they do not touch, Michael notices Jeep is warm, like amusement and happiness. It is fascinating.

He does not realize he has leaned into it until Jeep turns his head to look back at Michael and they are nearly nose to nose.

“Thanks… uh, Michael? Could you give me some space?” Michael blinks and takes a step back.

Without his assistance, Jeep removes his sweater and shirt in a single, swift movement, only making a small grunt when he drops them to the floor. The runes of a forgotten language stand out against Jeep’s skin in long black lines and swirls. Indecipherable patterns ran down his arms and back, disappearing under the waist of his pants and looping over his shoulders – where a large bruise blossoms like a flower in a forest of black thorns.

Without hesitation, Michael reaches out and touches the injury. Jeep flinches.

“I am sorry, Jeep.” He does not want to cause Jeep pain. “I need to see if your shoulder is dislocated or broken.”

Jeep nods. “S’fine. Don’t think it’s as bad as all that, just tender.”

Michael is not sure he knows how, but he tries to be gentle. He keeps his touches light, fingers grazing tanned skin in search of anything worse than the red and purple of the bruise. His palms are flat on Jeep’s shoulder and upper back, feeling for displaced bone under strong, lean muscle.

Michael feels the blood run under Jeep’s skin. He feels the expansion every time Jeep takes a breath. He feels the slight stick of sweat leftover from hours under the hot sun.

But he does not feel anything wrong, and takes his hands away.

Jeep’s head perks up and he turns to face Michael, “Well? Will I live?”

“You will live.”

Jeep chuckles and nudges Michael in the side with his elbow – a touch, friends, human – as he bends down and picks up his discarded clothes.

As Jeep walks away, Michael speaks up.

“I will take watch for tonight, Jeep.” Jeep pauses in the middle of him gathering the food back into a bag.

“What? No, Michael, I’m good.” He throws the last can in and places the bag with the rest of their supplies against the wall. “You said so yourself, it’s just a little bruise. Ain’t gonna kill me to stay up a few extra hours.”

The smile Jeep gives is genuine. There is the familiar curve of his mouth, the confidence in his eyes and the strength in his voice. But Michael can see the grey peppering the stubble along his chin, the dark smudges under his eyes from too many nights cut short and the weary slouch of his shoulders.

Jeep needs the rest. Michael does not.

“Please, Jeep,” he tries to put together the right words, tries to be… _human_. “It would make me… feel better, if you got your rest.”

Jeep opens his mouth as if to fight Michael on this, but perhaps the lack of a decent night’s sleep catches up with him, and much like his son, a large yawn prevents his argument.

Alex and Jeep have the same face when they yawn.

“It seems as though you would feel better as well, Jeep.”

Jeep glares with a frown forming, but a second yawn overtakes him. He catches Michael’s eye and Michael can see that he has won.

“Alright, you smug bastard.” Jeep throws his shirt back on, leaving his sweater and jacket on the floor next to him, and lies down on his own sleeping bag. His folds his arms under his head, angled so the entrance to the convenient store is in his sight, keeping himself between the door and Alex, and closes his eyes.

There is peace, until… “But tomorrow, _I’m_ taking watch.” And with that Jeep finally let’s himself sleep, and the familiar warmth that Michael associates with Jeep pulses.

Michael unsheathes a blade and sits back down, the cool metal of his sword resting on his knees while his gaze never leaves the entry. All is quiet, save for the small breathes of Alex and Jeep as they slumber. They are… comforting… to Michael – and they lull him, a soothing balm to strengthen his soul.

Only for a moment does he break away, his eyes going to Jeep and Alex, and this feeling… he knows this feeling that spreads throughout his body as he looks at them.

It is _faith_.


End file.
